


That's Good to Hear!

by starbinch (orphan_account)



Series: The Wonderful Adventures in the Mansion [2]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Affection, Aftermath of Violence, Bruises, Demons, Healing, Kissing, M/M, Wilford Cares, mild Hypnosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starbinch
Summary: I continued to look around. There were paintings on the wall, but it did not hold paintings themselves. Intricate designs, small doodles, words. All scattered on every single wall in the room. No posters, no photographs, only these images from the hand of the creator. These paintings weren’t ordinary, however, just like everything else in this mansion. They slithered across the walls at a snail’s pace. Wiggling, swirling, waving at me as I watched in awe. Some of them conveyed grief, anguish, and I could feel it deep in my bones if I stared at them too long. Others emitted happiness, giddiness, bubbling up in my chest and forcing me to stifle a deep belly laugh for reasons I could not explain.
Relationships: Wilford Warfstache/Reader
Series: The Wonderful Adventures in the Mansion [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567747
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	That's Good to Hear!

When I awoke, groggy and only half aware, I was lying in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. I lifted his head only to find it hurt more than anything I had ever felt in my entire goddamn life. Then the overwhelming burn from the rest of my body finally sunk into my consciousness and I had to resist the urge to scream at the top of my lungs.

I let my head fall back into the unnecessarily plush pillows, the kind that would suffocate someone easily if ever given the chance. They were covered in black pillowcases that matched the sheets. The comforter was pink and blue and purple. It smelled good. Like cotton candy? Something to that effect. My head hurt a little too much to get stuck thinking about it.

The room was dimly lit but colorful. A hot pink tube light sat on the right side of the room, propped up on it’s end in the corner. A long blacklight was on the left wall. Their fluorescents met in the middle, creating a warm purple haze that melted across the ceiling and sprinkled down to highlight my face. 

I continued to look around. There were paintings on the wall, but it did not hold paintings themselves. Intricate designs, small doodles, words. All scattered on every single wall in the room. No posters, no photographs, only these images from the hand of the creator. These paintings weren’t ordinary, however, just like everything else in this mansion. They slithered across the walls at a snail’s pace. Wiggling, swirling, waving at me as I watched in awe. Some of them conveyed grief, anguish, and I could feel it deep in my bones if I stared at them too long. Others emitted happiness, giddiness, bubbling up in my chest and forcing me to stifle a deep belly laugh for reasons I could not explain.

This must be Wilford’s room. I couldn’t think of a single other person in the mansion who would have anything even remotely similar to this. I sat up with a pained groan and nearly burst into tears at the pain that ripped through my throat. I managed to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I looked down at my thighs. There were bruises all over them, huge and purple and oh, so painful. I was surprised to find myself in a black shirt and a pair of boxers that were a little too loose on me. Not to mention I had never seen these before in my life. Black with little pink hearts all over them. I rolled my eyes. They’re Wilford’s. I hoped to god that these were clean. Surely Wilford had some common sense. 

I touched the soft rug next to the bed with my big toe, decided it safe, and pulled myself from the soft and comforting sheets. I stood shakily and took as deep a breath as possible without hurting myself too much. My left hand held up the boxers that threatened to slide down my ass cheeks. I steeled my nerves, preparing myself to make the mad dash to my room in nothing but this pair of underwear that wasn’t mine. I stepped forward, once, twice.

“Oh, come now,” a voice, Wilford, cut through the air. “You’re in no shape to be running around the mansion.”

A pained look crossed my face for a moment and I rolled my eyes at the wall in front of me before freezing in place and staring, mouth open, at the flat surface before me. The elaborate swirls of colors bounced, wiggled up and down and side to side, laughing a deep belly laugh that I didn’t hear but felt. I felt a laugh stir in my chest, wanting to break free, but I squashed it down. Now was not the time, wall. I tore my eyes away from the anomaly in front of me and turned to find Wilford occupying my previous space on the bed.

Wilford grinned at me. His arms were extended behind him as he leaned back, legs dangling over the bed and swinging back and forth. I didn’t even attempt to speak. My throat hurt too bad and I was too scared that speaking would make it even worse.

The other man nodded solemnly. “I understand. Green really messed you up, didn’t he?” His eyes trailed down my body and back up again. I met his eyes and saw something I couldn’t name.

I hesitated, then nodded along with him. Wilford pursed his lips. “Well we can’t just keep you hurting, now can we?” He asked. “I’ll fix you right up.” He stretched out his arms and waved at me, gesturing for me to come closer. 

I shook his head and took another step back instead. 

“Hey,” Wilford chastised. “Don’t be like that. Just come to Daddy Wilford and we’ll get your ouchies fixed up, okay?”

I grimaced and shook my head again. If there was one thing I never thought I would hear, it would be Wilford calling himself Daddy while talking to me. I hoped I would never have to hear that again.

“No Daddy then?” Wilford frowned. “Okay, not Daddy today.”

I blinked and suddenly found myself directly in front of Wilford. This was what Delta was talking about, I supposed. I glanced past the man’s head. A small section of the paint swirled strangely, quickly pulsating between pink and blue as it flowed outwards before fading and coming back to the center of the circle. The other lines that were sluggishly whirling around the room parted like the red sea around this circle before coming back to meet again and continue their trek across the walls. 

I felt the tense confusion and fear seep from my bones and filter through the muscles and tissue before dropping on the carpet below. An overwhelming sense of calm overtook my body and I realized that I was in no danger, that Wilford truly wanted to help me, and that I  _ wanted  _ him to help me. I wanted him to help me as much as humanly possible. I wanted him to touch me and hold me and never let go again. I felt high, like I had just eaten some brownies with a little extra fun put in. I didn’t know why I felt like this, but something in my head was telling me not to fight it and I agreed with no hesitation. 

Wilford wrapped his arms around my waist and my knees nearly buckled. He was so hot. I could feel his body heat soak through the sleeves of his button up and the fabric of my shirt and burn into my lower back. And it felt good. I had never felt anything like this, smoldering and yet inflicted no damage. I wanted more, I wanted to melt into him. Why was I feeling this way? Why was I suddenly so obsessed with Wilford? I wanted everything to do with Wilford, I wanted to feel him everywhere. I leaned into his touch and rested my arms on his shoulders, clasping my hands behind his neck.

“Atta boy,” Wilford mumbled. He pressed his lips just above my belly button, lighting the skin ablaze. “Let’s get you all fixed up, yeah? Why don’t you sit down.” He squeezed his legs together and patted his bare knees, staring up at me with dark eyes.

I looked down, feeling the unbelievable urge to follow his command right then and there, but I had always been wary of sitting on people’s laps. I feared I would hurt them somehow, be too heavy, too pokey, or some other unreasonable anxiety. I turned around and faced the wall again, then gently rested my bottom on his knees, not allowing all of my weight to bear down on him.

“You’re not too heavy,” he reassured me gently, rubbing my back. “You won’t hurt me.”

I believed him, of course. He only wanted to help me, after all, so he wouldn’t lie to me. Especially about something like that. I sighed and released the tension in my calves, allowing myself to be held up solely by Wilford. 

He pressed himself against my back and reached around me, grabbed my right knee and gently pulled me around. Something that I can only describe as pure adrenaline shot through me as his bare skin finally touched my own. I almost jerked away, feeling like I had just been burned, but it did not hurt. I was sitting sideways on his lap now, one of his arms supporting my back and the other resting on my left thigh.

“Let’s get you talkin’ again,” He began with a soft smile. He looked down at my neck, where nasty bruises covered my skin. “That sound good to you?”

I nodded, quite possibly a little too enthusiastically. I had no idea how he was going to do this, or even what he meant by “fix you up”. How was he going to get me talking again? My trachea was most certainly bruised if not slightly crushed at this point.

Another sudden move had my stomach turning. Wilford was now propped up against the pillows, sitting on his butt. I was straddling his hips. Wilford’s thumbs were rubbing fiery circles onto the outside of my thighs. He raised one hand and rested my chin on his fingers, then tilted my head back to show the giant red and purple hand shaped splotches that wrapped around my neck. I looked down and saw Wilford frown. “He really did a number on you. Keep your chin up.” He cupped the back of my neck and gently pulled me forward as he leaned up.

We met in the middle, his lips against my skin. I gripped his suspenders so tightly in my hands I thought the colors might come off onto my palms when I pulled away. I wanted to scream. He hadn’t even done anything minus tenderly press his lips to the middle of my neck, but I wanted to scream out loud that I wanted more and I wanted it now.

Wilford chuckled and whispered against my skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle this time.” He kissed methodically, his mustache tickling me and removing silent, breathy giggles from my lungs. Soft, chaste kisses against every centimeter of the bruise, not leaving a single spot untouched by his soft lips. Then I felt his hands move down and lift the hem of my shirt. I thought perhaps he was going to take it off.

Instead he started tickling my hip bones. It was gentle, but it was just enough for me to elicit a loud laugh and then I stopped because, yes, I just  _ laughed _ and it didn’t hurt my throat like the devil. My eyes went wide. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Of course it doesn’t, darling,” he assured, nuzzling his forehead into my neck and tickling me even more with his fluffy, wild hair. “I told you I was gonna fix you up.”

“How?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, babydoll.”

That. That right there, that word.  _ Babydoll.  _ I’d been called that many times by creepy guys on the subway late at night. It meant nothing to me. It meant nothing to me when  _ they _ said it. When he said it, when it came from Wilford Warfstache, it was like a punch straight to the heart, but if the fist was love and desperation instead of hate and pain. And suddenly I found myself wishing that Wilford and I had done this before, that it hadn’t taken so long for him to have me in his bedroom, for me to be straddling him while he kissed my neck lovingly. 

“God, what I wouldn’t do for you to fix me a little more,” I mumbled, knowing full well that he heard me long before I even spoke it.

“If you wish,” he replied, as if he hadn’t already had that planned from the beginning. “Where else did he hurt you?”

I grabbed his wrist and settled it on my chest, where multiple bite wounds riddled the skin. He nodded and looked back down, fiddling with my shirt once again before lifting it up. “Arms up.” I lifted my arms and he slid the fabric up and over my chest. I took it off once it was past my biceps since he couldn’t reach any farther and threw it behind me on the bed. 

I twisted back around and looked down, eyeing the injuries. It looked as if they had already been cleaned. There was no blood crusted and dried around the incisions, just red, irritated skin. He wrapped his arms around my back tightly, preparing to kiss until I hissed in pain.

Wilford immediately let go. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Delta cracked some ribs,” I stated, wincing when I touched them.

“Oh, well we can get that fixed up easily.”

I was on my back now. Maybe I was getting a little used to being jostled around in the blink of an eye, because my stomach tumbled marginally less this time. Wilford crawled over me, his legs straddling mine and his arms on either side of my shoulders. He stared down at me for a moment before easing himself down and continuing to kiss the bite wounds. It stung terribly and tears sprung to the corners of my eyes, but each kiss hurt a little less than the last and I breathed deep and steady to keep from hiccuping out a sob.

When he was done he lifted his head back up and looked at me. “The ribs, huh?” 

I nodded, lip between my teeth, knowing this was going to tickle very badly. Now he was kissing my ribs and I was jerking around, trying to stay still and keep myself from letting out the ugliest belly laugh man had ever heard until he finally finished and looked at me, a grin spread across his face.

“Have I ever told you you’re the cutest goddamn idiot I’ve ever seen?”   
“You have now,” I heaved out, a smile gracing my own face.

“Good,” he said, and then he was sliding down my stomach, trailing hot kisses until he got to the waistband of my underwear, or rather,  _ his _ underwear. I lifted my head and we both looked at each other for a moment. He knew the answer to his own question. He wasn’t even going to ask it.

He slid his fingers into the legs of the loose boxers and held on, then jiggled them down. The waistband slid down easily with them. He stopped when my hips were exposed, along with the bruises from where Bing had gripped so desperately.

More tickling, more giggling, smiles. Happiness was bubbling in my chest. It was the room. Was Wilford controlling the emotions the room was giving off, or was the room doing that itself? I didn’t know, but I was okay with that. I was happy and giddy like a kid again. I hadn’t felt like this since my first kiss nearly,  _ god _ , nine years ago. A feeling I wish I could always have. 

“You can. If you come to my room more often, that is,” Wilford mouthed against my hip bone. I realized he was right. Nothing was stopping me from coming back here, whether it be because I was in a terrible mood and needed a pick me up or if I needed a little more fixing.

He sat up and rested on my shins. “Anywhere else?” He asked cheerily.

I thought good and hard, but other than some very minor bruises and cuts I could think of nothing more that would require whatever assistance he could give. 

“That’s good to hear!” He exclaimed while lifting his hand. I watched as he snapped, and then I was back in my own dark bedroom, illuminated only by the blue nightlight I had plugged in by the door.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys wanna mess around and have a little fun I've made a Googleplier ask blog for my version of the four Googles! https://assorted-modules.tumblr.com/


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